No Denying
by Fire-In-The-Heart
Summary: The potion was a spliced variation of Vertiseram and an intimacy tonic - 'Intimam Veritatis' or 'Intimate Truth'. Used in past eras during the easement of arranged marriages. Now considered borderline dark. Naturally, It was Harry that was forced to drink it during Potions Class. \*Or the slow burn Draco/Harry fic that no one knew they needed*
1. Prologue

**FIRST YEAR**

 _Sometimes it is the ones we know that we really don't know at all._

We were all much younger then, he even more so than me…

I, of course had always been a rather precocious child. If not the loudest voice in the din of my childhood days, then still certainly the one most heard, and was used to people, both children my own age and younger, as well as many much older, following my lead and hanging off my every word, eager to just be seen as associated with me.

When I was very young my mother often told me I was the brightest star of my generation, and that I would one day grow to be a supernova, and it was all of course, undeniably true.

Like every other magical child in the wizarding world, I too had grown up hearing the name _Harry Potter;_ stories of his tragic night, the suspicion of his mysterious leap into celebrity and the apparent untold wealth of power he possessed.

After all, power was everything.

I had assumed that once at Hogwarts, I would finally take up the mantle left to me by my forefathers, leading the student body as I grew, the brightest star in a sea of black, dragging worthy others into my light and engulfing those unworthy in inky blackness of my dismissal.

 _Harry Potter_ was of course, in my every imagining, always my number one, my wand hand; the power behind my name. I would suck him into my life and tether him there with charisma, and together we would take the world by storm.

I'd seen him that first year, in Diagon alley of course, and hardly recognised him for the force that he surely was, so brilliantly hidden was he. Then again on the station platform and the train itself, withdrawn and quiet, shy and unassuming, a brilliant mask, although not one I myself would or could ever utilise.

He was perfect. The dark shadow to my bright light and I knew only I would ever see or use the power within that darkness.

And then IT happened, _Harry Potter's_ superbly created mask was revealed to be reality. A dull, darkened veneer of cold unworthiness, and I knew as surely as if he had told me himself, he would _never_ be mine…and I told myself that _I did not want him._

 **SECOND YEAR**

 _Envy makes those who cannot see blind._

We did, unequivocally, not get along.

Of course, he wasn't my enemy or any such nonsense… he lacked any such _threat._ He was just an inconveniently placed thorn that dug into my side on occasion, an itch I was unable to scratch, lest my skin rash.

I avoided him when I could, taunted him when I could not. Sometimes I believe that my avoidance bothered him less than the taunts, and for some unfathomable reason, _this_ bothered _me_.

He had many fooled, sucked in by his 'supposed heroics'. He had after all, by this stage, fought a cave troll, outwitted professors with decades more experience and faced down Voldemort himself. Even at 12 I was intelligent enough to realise what a load of dragon crap that was.

Dead is all _Harry Potter_ would be if he had truly faced any one of these horrors.

Despite the constant fawning, undiluted awe and general sense of hero worship that followed him everywhere; he didn't even have the good sense to enjoy it.

So conceited and aloof that he treated his adoring public with extreme disdain, disregarding the limelight with such hate, and that, more so than anything else angered me. Why should _Harry Potter_ loathe that which I yearned for?

I had known him a year and a half and I had him thoroughly categorised.

Boring, predictable and pathetically weak.

 **THIRD YEAR**

 _There comes a time when everyone becomes someone, yet most don't recognise themselves until much later._

I was thirteen, the year of self discovery and awareness. Boys realised what girls were and girls realised that boys only want one thing. Specifically, it was the year I realised that girls held _no_ appeal to me.

I was gay.

Of course, this broke many a girls' heart, and pleased me greatly as it meant I had an excuse to not engage their affections; other than I thought many of them looked like a pasty pug-faced mutts.

I only ever had one issue with my sexual awakening, and it involved the mudblood Hufflepuff who caught me practicing my snogging skills with a fifth year Ravenclaw.

Fifth year _male_ Ravenclaw.

Apparently muggles aren't as accepting of same sex couples.

It was quickly _explained_ by the gay and bisexual population of Hogwarts students, some 40%, as well as the majority of straight students, that same sex relationships are not to be tolerated, 'put up with' or in any way 'stomached'.

They just are.

As natural and acceptable as that between a man and a woman.

It seemed we got the message across, however; I still remain unsure what flowers have to do with it. _I mean...pansies?_

I will admit to having a 'thing' for my roommate for a few months, but he was absolutely enamoured of some girl. There was a fourth year Raven...Geoffrey or some such; I never approached him; he was older, half-blood and seemingly attached to the pretty blond always hanging of his arm and simpering annoyingly; but he was _very_ good looking.

Thick dark hair, body to kill for and there was a certain something about him that I never could pinpoint, but whatever the case; he was _hot._

And _Harry Potter_ was undeniably _NOT._

Beyond skinny, more like skin and bones, unhealthily pale, tiny; the smallest guy in our year in fact, selfish and egotistical and totally unattractive.

And no, I do not protest too much.

 **FOURTH YEAR**

 _Jealousy_ _is but love and hate at the same time._ _Yet love must be nurtured while hate grows unassisted._

I was dating my left hand at this stage, unable to find anyone who truly fascinated me, or was worthy of associating with me in that manner.

And then I heard that we would have visitors from other schools; powerful, dark visitors. Handsome visitors like Victor Krum.

The Triwizard Tournament; which _Harry Potter_ inexplicitly yet undeniably high-jacked, another year in which we were the victims of his ever growing hubris and self interest.

He had grown from a thorn in my side to a tangled, snarled vine, trying to encompass and destroy me, yet I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

He was everywhere, in everything I tried to do, everywhere I turned; there to gloat, taunt and just generally make my life miserable with his continued existent; his dull, false light still stealing my oxygen, that as weak as he was, he should not have been able to attain.

And then I watched the first task, against the dragon...a fucking Dragon for Merlins sake.

 _Harry Potter_ beat a fucking dragon.

And somewhere in the back of my head, my perceptions began to change, adjusting to the information that _Harry Potter_ may truly have some, _just a fraction_ of the power he was supposed to posses.

I will never tell a soul, not ever...but I should have realised something was changing when all I felt during the second task was an undeniable heart stopping feeling of pure jealous rage.

At the Weasel.

Third task still remains a mystery... rumours of everything from The Dark Lord to Harry Potter's dead parents spread like wildfire, but none were confirmed.

All we knew was that Harry Potter had touched the cup, disappeared and reappeared clutching Diggory's dead body.

There was terror, rage, sadness, horror, disbelief...even smatterings of happiness and exaltation...yet all I felt was empty, hollow.

And then he reappeared and I breathed again.

 **FIFTH YEAR**

 _Burning brightly for the first time, and suddenly the world is alit with flame._

Children went home on the express and young men and woman had replaced them come our return, Fifth year.

The men taller, stronger, broader.

The woman, prettier, curvier, bustier.

The future we would become was visible in our maturing forms, I; grace and beauty in masculine form, perfection personified.

I'd grown taller, now finally topping most of the girls in the school, average among the boys. My hair was longer, face thinner and skin calmer...I was the man the boy had become.

I saw him from behind as we entered the great hall for the sorting feast, that mess of hair unmistakable.

He, unlike nearly every other fifth year had not shot up over the summer and stood at height with whichever of the Creevey Brats was heckling him, a good half foot shorter than myself.

For some reason I expected nothing else to have changed.

And then he turned.

The gauntness of his too thin baby face was gone, replaced with the still too lean adult angles, smooth and china pale. His hair was slightly shorter and swept to one side, presumably to cover his scar, yet it only enhanced his green, green eyes.

White teeth bit worryingly at the corner of his lower lip and I spun away at the sudden urge to free and sooth the tortured flesh.

Preferably with my own lips.

What in Merlins name was happening to me...I most certainly did not find _Harry Potter_ cute, gorgeous or attractive in any way shape or form.

It took me a few day to readjust to his new altered appearance, and a further day to learn to ignore the unjustifiable rage when others also took notice of the changes, but I convinced myself that however much my traitorous body liked his older look, _Harry Potter_ was still the most egotistical, self centred, spoilt, bigoted, dull, pathetically weak creature to walk the halls of Hogwarts.

It was almost cruel how brutally my whole concept of _Harry Potter_ was swept aside with such little effort on his behalf.

It was my own fault...because I could not stop _watching_ him.

And I began to notice the little things my hate filled mind had missed.

Those teeth worried at that lip whenever the spotlight was on him, and his hands fisted in his robes at the first sign of attention. It wasn't disdain of his fame, it was fear and discomfort.

He wasn't attention hungry, scornful of his admirers or condescending...he wasn't me. He was just shy.

Very shy in fact, and yet he put himself out of his comfort zone nearly every day, for the people who needed to see him, know he was there.

He wasn't self-centred, or selfish either. He almost always put others first. In my watching I often noticed that Weasel and Granger sometimes talked right over him, or disagreed with him and more often than not he bowed to their whims.

He was hardly egotistical. In fact, I came to doubt he even had an ego, and I also came to learn that mine was big enough for the two of us.

His weakness that I had assumed so easily, so early, both magically and of his character, was as mythical as the majority of his other vices I had made up.

He was completely and utterly balls up lucky, yet...

Magically he was undeniably powerful. I'd seen him cast a Patronus, not to mention how brilliant he had always been in DADA. I could now believe some of the previous adventures he was rumoured to have survived.

And characteristically? Dullness had suddenly become _fascination_ and I couldn't get enough of who he was as a person. All the pressure heaped upon him, hunted by Dark Lords, hated by Slytherin, martyred by a whole world and he was a better person than I had ever known.

Certainly better than I, and yet, he made me want to _be_ better _,_ as nothing had ever inspired me before. Such power as my family couldn't conceive and I wanted him so much more than anything else I had ever wanted.

Yet, I knew to ever have any chance whatsoever, of having anything to do with _Harry Potter,_ I would have to renounce my family, my whole way of life.

And for the first time ever, be myself, wholly and irrevocably my own individual, instead of my father's son…

 **SIXTH YEAR**

 _He is the SUN to my Supernova._

Somehow I have fallen in love with Harry Potter.


	2. Intimate Truth

Slughorn looked up from his overflowing desk, cluttered with scrawled notes, half used ingredients and haphazard piles of essays and homework to be marked. Gazing across his small afternoon class, silently congratulated himself on the quiet concentration before him, he called, "10 minutes simmering remain…" before turning back to the third year essay he was attempting to decipher.

Groans, faint whimpers and panicked gasps were heard as the 10 students broke into frenzied movement, seeming ill content with the news that only a few minutes remained.

It wasn't an exam…life nor death hinged on the successful completion…however, Horace Slughorn encouraged his students by any means necessary.

Today's particular lesson was a gruelling one; he had combined his upper year classes, 6ths and 7ths, and set them the task of brewing a 'spliced' potion…two or more potions combined for viable results…today specifically; a weakened variant of Vertiserum and an intimacy potion.

Both potions were complicated in their own right, but to regulate the two at the same time and correctly interlace the brewing steps to achieve the 'Splice-potion'…extremely difficult.

The reward…1000 house point to the most effective brewer.

It would all but synch the house cup and bring glory and recognition to the winner.

The competitors?

Sixth and seventh year Gryffindor's and Slytherin's.

\- _The completed potion should be periwinkle blue with pearlesque lustre, of syrupy texture and exude no odour._

From the noxious smell emanating from several of his classmates cauldrons, and Ron's watery pink liquid, Harry was fairly sure that at least 60% of the class had completely failed.

Not Harry though.

Harry's potion; a brilliant blue of exact periwinkle shade (at least – according to the book), shiny and glimmering and altogether perfect.

Thanks to the Half-blood Prince of course.

Reading the notes where _Prince_ indicated that the simmering time was unnecessary and actually made the potion starchier and resistant to being mixed, Harry filled his sample vial and corked it, carefully running the tip of his wand down the smooth glass, he intoned _"enscribus"…_ leaving _H.P_ embossed in softly glowing gold, marking the sample as his.

After all, he was sharing the class with Slytherin's, and he wouldn't put it past Higgs or Pucy to swap his vial with one of their own if it would garner them 1000 points, or hell, just to spite him. He didn't know the older Slytherin's well, thank Merlin, but even he could tell that they practically worshipped the ground Draco Malfoy stalked on, and Harry was starting to wonder if it was just because of the blonds familial connections.

For all that Harry couldn't stand Draco and Draco obviously hated Harry, the Slytherin had certainly come into his title of the _Ice Prince_. At 16 he was all but grown, exuding power and confidence, even if it was malicious confidence.

And of course, he had the followers to back his reputation.

It was also abundantly clear that Draco Malfoy _did not_ respect, like, or tolerate Harry Potter…which made him a prime target for use in winning Draco's stead.

The two older Slytherin boys had glared and snarled at him when he had entered the classroom, not happy to be mixing with those younger, let alone Gryffs…yet they had settled down once the competition was revealed, obviously believing they had the advantage… they had turned their competitive edge towards the only Gryffindor their age; seventh year Victoria Frobisher…Vicky to her friends.

She in turn had grinned wolfishly at the two boys and all three had turned their attention to their potions, mutual respect for talent and nothing else allowing them to work in the same environment.

The seven sixth years had followed suit, Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis, side by side; Ron and Hermione on either side of Harry behind the two Slytherin girls and Draco and Blaise in the rear of the classroom.

They had each ignored the others, completely oblivious to everything else around them, so intent on their potions books and cauldrons, each determined to at least have a chance at winning those 1000 points.

Ignored each other, with one exception.

 _Draco bloody Malfoy_

Although it finally seemed that the Slytherin pain in the ass had gotten the message that Harry Potter possibly had bigger things to worry about that their school yard rivalry, and had laid off with most of the verbal taunts and bullying since the beginning of the year, it would be even better if he hadn't replaced it with malevolent _staring._

Okay, he knew Malfoy hated his guts, got that Malfoy thought Harry was the scum of the earth, and should be eviscerated from the planet. _But really… The pointed staring was just too much._

At first he'd tried glaring back, rolling his eyes, snorting…anything to get the prat to give it up, and it would work for a second, Malfoy flushing angry pink and looking away, but always the dark stare would return and finally Harry had just started ignoring him…Malfoy could stare all he liked, Harry wasn't going to rise to his bait any longer.

Harry put his final result on the table and began to pack up; steadily ignoring the dark gaze he had felt on the back of his head for the whole lesson.

Closing the potions book and sliding it into his bag, he flicked his wand at his cauldron and muttered _"Evanesco",_ vanishing the rest of the unneeded potion and followed with _"Scourgify"_ cleaning the desk of ingredient morsels and smears.

"Never mind Mr Potter…even master brewers make mistakes on occasion…"

Harry startled from his thoughts, suddenly aware that Slughorn was directly in front of him, gazing down with a kind, if disappointed face.

Harry stuttered, "Um - I'm sorry Sir?" steadfastly ignoring the snort from behind him as he scrambled to catch up.

Slughorn smiled as he indicated the clear workspace, "Give up early did you? I'll admit, it was a very difficult potion, but I had hoped to see at least some result from you…and everyone else of course…"

Harry felt the others around the room begin to turn their attention to him, his conversation with the adoring potions professor obviously more interesting than watching the majority of their failed potions simmer.

"No Sir… I've finished the potion. I felt the liquid start to become starchy rather than just syrupy and so I finished up…" it was true, in a sense; he had felt the difference that Prince had remarked upon, although not until he knew what to look for…which was actually the case with a lot of Princes remarks and additions.

That book had taught him more effectively in a few weeks than Snape had in 5 years.

Slughorn grinned blindingly, jowls wobbling, "Indeed? You felt that…normally brewers may see or smell starch forming, but generally by then it's too late…feeling it while stirring is rather remarkable…you continue to astound Mr Potter…very well…Students! Please begin to bottle your samples…Mr Potter, if I may?"

As the other students began filling their own vials Harry handed Slughorn his own, eyes dropping when the professor immediately grinned in delighted exuberance, "Perfect colour my boy! And the luminance!….just let me…" he popped the cork and held the vial to his nose, "No smell…fantastic Mr Potter…full points! In fact 1000 points to Gryffindor!"

Harry's head snapped up at the declaration, colour sweeping into his cheeks as he felt the disquiet begin to grow in the room, trying to defuse the situation he said, "But Sir…You haven't even looked at any of the others yet! Surely you should see theirs fi-"

"Nonsense!" Slughorn cut him off, "This is the one…it's brilliant, perfect I'd wager! In fact, I should…yes…excuse me for a moment… Wait till he sees this! Class menace my wand..." the professor, wandered into his adjoining office, still muttering under his breath.

Slowly, Harry turned to see the various stares facing him; anger, confusion, jealousy, pride, smugness and various others stared back.

Ron was the first to speak, breaking from his stunned shock with a happy, "Blimey Harry, You just won us the house cup…and it's only the third week of school!"

Tracy Davis, her potion a soft shade of mint green and smelling of carrots shot back over her shoulder, "I don't know Weasel…the dragons haven't hatched yet! Potter seems to have an at least as distinct talent for losing points as he does gaining them!"

Ron scowled, but before an argument could break out Victoria, taking the lead as a 7th year, and therefore role model, diffused the situation. Looking up from the blue sludge in her cauldron she shook her head in defeat, "Well done Potter – better us than them!"

Turning his nose up snootily from his strangely translucent potion, Blaise glared at the older student, delivering a veiled threat, "Careful Frog-face…there are more 'thems' than 'us's' in this room…."

Almost knocking his cauldron over Ron shouted, "Anytime, anywhere slime ball… one Gryff is worth ten Snakes!"

Adrian Pucy finally stooped low enough to argue, all but snarling in a high pitched voice that matched his rat like frame, "As if…without precious Potter you'd have been gutter trash long ago…"

Never one to help matters, Ron had to reply, "Exactly! We have Harry and none of you lot would stand a chance against him! "

Barking a snort of laughter Blaise bragged, "Draco would…you could take Potter any day, couldn't you Draco?"

Draco smirked as Harry instinctively turned to look at him, and drawled, "I could take him right now…"

Harry glared mildly at the overconfident blond, before turning away, Ron however looked set to blow but settled as Vicky interfered, "Enough… no wands or I'll get Slughorn!"

The threat seemed to work and the students quietened into various angry sulks and Harry turned to his other friend who had yet to speak, "Hermione?"

The brunet looked up, a devastated look on her face, "Harry! I did everything right…exactly as the book said! It's the right colour and the right consistency…but it smells like vanilla!…and I can't work out what I did…it should be right…I did everything right. I put the asodophal weed in to soak and mixed the valerian root with the cobblegrass…and then I-"

Cringing, Harry cut her off… "Hermione…It's, well…It's actually Asodophal _seed…._ The seed of the weed…not the weed itself…"

Hermione just stared at him, and then she relaxed and smiled brightly, "Oh thank Merlin! I knew I hadn't done anything wrong...just misread!...Thanks Harry... and well done!"

Harry flushed and shook his head as he answered, "No…you should have won Hermione…your potion was perfect…and you wanted it more than me…."

Hermione slapped his arm at the same time Ron slapped the back of his head, the witch chastised him, "No Harry…my potion was wrong…just because it was a stupid mistake doesn't mean it wasn't wrong…yours really was perfect! You've gotten really good at potions this year…" she steamrollered over Ron's muttered, " _No Snape_ " continuing on with her proud spiel, "Could you really feel the starch forming? That's amazing…I can smell it usually…but you felt it…"

She beamed at him and Harry tentatively smiled back. As the other students began to pack up Harry gathered up his left over ingredients and returned them to the store room. He did sometimes feel like he was cheating, using _Prince's_ book…but on the other hand…it was just like owning a better textbook - _he_ had brewed the potion.

He had taken two steps back into the classroom when an arm snaked around his throat and he was crushed against something solid, specifically; the burly 6'3 frame of Terrence Higgs.

Harry gasped and reached for his wand, only to realise it was still on his desk across the room. He heard Hermione's stunned yell of _"Harry!"_ as she looked up from polishing her gold cauldron and Ron's following bellowed _"Let him go!"_ as his best friend leapt across the room towards them.

Harry struggled wildly and managed to land a knee off centre to Higgs groin and was rewarded with a sharp intake of air, his other reward though was being shoved hard against the wall and meaty fingers prying his mouth open, Higgs laughed menacingly and then growled in a deep voice, "You're such a potions _master_ , maybe you can taste why mine didn't win…" and poured his own vial of periwinkle blue liquid between Harrys lips; smashing a hand down flat across his mouth to keep him from immediately spitting it out.

An instant later Harry's knee made proper contact with his original target; the 7th year was propelled off Harry by a disarming spell and was jumped by an enraged Ron.

Harry fell to his knees, hands at his throat, sputtering and coughing; half spitting, half vomiting up the vile tasting concoction.

Hermione rushed to Harry's side, someone screamed for their absent professor and Ron beat the shit out of Higgs, the huge 7th year prone under the red heads furious fists.

"Wha- WHAT IN MERLINS NAME IS GOING ON!?", Slughorn stormed into the room, reefing Ron of Higgs with a sharp tug on the back of his robes; showing the strength hidden by his bulky weight, "Mr Weasely!…What is the meaning of this?"

Ron was vibrating in anger and tried to lunge at Higgs again, but was stopped by Slughorn's grip; a firm shake stilling his attempts at violence but doing nothing to abate the obvious fury. "STOP...Explain yourself NOW Mr Weasely, before Gryffindor loses all those points they just gained…"

Ron stilled, obviously enraged, but seeming to realise that a professor was now involved, "Higgs…that bastard! He forced Harry to drink his potion!"

Slughorn paled suddenly, understanding the redhead's violent reaction. He spotted his target of concern on the other side of the room, almost behind one of the potions desks.

Hermione was on her knees besides Harry, her hands on his shoulders propping him up as she leaned in close, muttering fervently to him. Slughorn's anxiety was immediately apparent. Harry was white, his hands clamped over his mouth, eyes huge and translucent with terror and had Hermione not been steadying him he would have swayed were he sat.

Slughorn gestured for Hermione to make room as he knelt beside the stricken teen, questioning frantically, "Mr Potter…Harry… how much did you drink…Harry!"

The dark haired boy didn't answer, just clenched his mouth shut tighter and shook his head. Slughorn turned called urgently over his shoulder, "Miss Frobisher. Bottle some of Higg's potion; we may need an uncontaminated sample…"

Slughorn turned to Hermione, "Miss Granger, do you know how much he actually drank?"

Hermione shook her head, "Not really professor…Higgs cornered him on the other side of the room…but he has a lot on his robes and there's even more on the floor so I don't think he actually swallowed much at all…"

Horace breathed a sigh of slight relief and turned back to Harry, "Mr Potter…are you in pain…what do you feel…I don't know how accurate the potion was so I don't know what it's doing to you. I need you to talk to me…"

Harry shook his head in firm denial, hands white knuckled over his mouth, jaw clenched in a way visible all down his throat, his eyes pleading in their fear.

Slughorn bit back a worry and fear induced yell of frustration and turned to look at the other pale, worried, confused and frightened faces of his students that were gathered loosely around the drama unfolding on the floor.

 ** _"_** ** _I….-I -I ha-_** **"**

The words were soft, all but whispered, each one fought to be contained and lost, escaping from clenched lips and bitten tongue.

" ** _I – have… n-nev-ever…relaxed – i-in a w-arm bath…_** "

Hermione gasped and Ron blanched on behalf of his friend. Adrian Pucy snorted derisively and Draco Malfoy's lips quirked in a strange half-smile.

Horace Slughorn felt the pieces fall into place, _Vertiserum and an Intimacy potion_ …somehow, Higgs had managed to blend the two at least somewhat effectively and hadn't poisoned the boy who lived, although…Harry might rather be dead after the next few minutes.

" ** _Ne-ne-ver…slow danc-ed…_** "

Hermione, desperate to do _something, anything_ to help her friend raised her wand and cast _'silen-'_ but was rudely interrupted by Slughorn gabbing her arm _, "_ NO – we can't risk interfering with magic, the potion could react badly…"

Hermione helplessly lowered her wand, and turned an icy gaze on the Slytherin girl behind them.

Tracy Davis tittered at the revelation, amused that Harry Potter's most intimate truths were so… boring, but the heated glare Hermione gave her was more than enough to shut her up; they'd heard about the time shed taken a swing at Draco.

" ** _Have ne—have never –_** **ugh- have n-never…never been kissed b-y someone I l-love…** "

Harry was seated on the floor, hand clapped across his mouth, a tiny trickle of blood seeped through his fingers from having bitten his hand trying to stay the words that had been tearing at his lips from the moment the potion had touched his tongue.

"I – "

He was losing the battle

" ** _I've – n-never just- been…held…_** "

Horace could have shot himself for his stupidity, "Harry, let go! It's a Vertiserum derivative, you can't deny it…the potion won't lose effect until you speak the truth! You won't even be able to move until you give in. You'll bite your tongue off or start to fit…you need to stop fighting …"

Never before had Horace realised that _green_ could be so hypnotising, yet he found himself unable to look away from Harry's mortified eyes, which closed as he finally surrendered.

" ** _I-ve never - never had anyone tell me they love me_**

 ** _"_** ** _I've…never had anyone love me…for me…_** "

" **I want- I want to- I wan't to fall in love- be loved…** _before I die._ "

Harry gasped out the last word, face pale from the strain of fighting the potions effects and stained red from complete mortification, breath finally coming easily as the potion wore off, having spilled all of his most intimate truths.

He refused to meet anyone's eyes, couldn't stand to see the pity and sadness on Hermione's, the baffled discomfort on Ron's, or the taunting smirks that the Slytherin's no doubt sported.

No one said anything, all just stared at Harry, each trying to decide where they sat; how they wanted to react.

"Hahaha-ha…You're pathetic Potter, truly pathetic!"

The last thing Harry heard as he turned tail and ran from the room, half blinded by furiously denied tears was Slughorn's enraged voice, "HIGGS! GET UP…I CANNOT BELIVE THAT A SEVENTH YEAR WOULD ACT SO STUPIDLY…YOU'RE POTION COULD HAVE KILLED HIM! UP! WE'RE GOING TO THE HEADMASTER RIGHT NOW…CLASS DISMISSED!"


	3. Coming To Terms

The parapet was solid at his back, flush from hips to shoulder, one leg stretched to just brush the neighbouring stone block, his other leg hanging off the edge of the tower, the cool September breeze whipped the hair about his face, into and then away from his eyes, sending chills across his skin; winter cloak as of yet unneeded in the heated halls and unthought-of in his heedless trek to the topmost level of the Astronomy tower.

He'd sprinted the entire way from the dungeons to the tower; shifting staircases and empty corridors paid no attention in his distraught escape from the complete humiliation he had just brought upon himself. Baffled, angered and concerned shouts from long dead portraits unheeded by his mortified sensibility; Harry had raced through the halls, unable to face even the thought of speaking to someone about ' _the incident'_ anytime in the near future.

Or ever.

Not paying attention to his route and having no destination in mind Harry had just continued to run until he'd suddenly burst out onto the astronomy tower roof and stopped short an inch from the waist high ledge.

And for an instant, a split second in time, he'd almost continued running, up and off the edge of the tallest tower at Hogwarts.

But he didn't want to fall to his death; he wanted to fly away from everything and everyone and just… be Harry.

And so he sat, on the ledge, back against the wall and refused to think about the shit storm that was no doubt brewing in the halls below.

Lunchtime came and went, and Harry didn't even really contemplate leaving the tower; he knew that Hermione and Ron and no doubt some of the professors were probably getting concerned, but for once in his life, Harry was unable to draw up the courage to face what had to be the most _embarrassing_ experience of his entire life.

In fact, it was beyond just embarrassing…. Embarrassing was being labelled the ' _chosen one'_ or having Ron's little sister moon over him or being awarded the points that won the cup _every single year…._ Nothing compared to having secrets so _secret_ that you hadn't even admitted them to yourself suddenly revealed to the entire student body and no doubt, the wizarding world at large.

Just thinking about the way the words had escaped his mouth, despite him fighting harder than he'd ever fought anything before; the total lack of control had terrified him. He ran his tongue over his teeth; still able to taste the coppery blood from where he'd bitten into his own hand, desperate to stop the sentence that he knew was trying to escape.

The memory of the truth torn from his throat…things he longed for, desperately sometimes, yet had never even acknowledged as they didn't fit the ' _Harry Potter – chosen one'_ image.

The _chosen One_ was not Pathetic.

Pathetic Potter.

Now that it had been said out loud he was forced to recognise the truth…no one loved him, and he loved no one.

Hermione and Ron were his best friends and he cared for them deeply, and on some level, recognised that they cared for him too, but he knew that there was no one on the planet who loved Harry more than they loved themselves.

What nearly every child had with their parents Harry had lost and never found again with the Dursley's, what every person felt with their first crush, their first love, Harry had never felt.

And honestly never expected to…after all, how can one expect to be loved when one can't honestly say they love themselves?

It was a realization, one that the potion couldn't force out of him because he hadn't even known; Harry had never understood love.

The afternoon passed, Harry intermittently dwelling on the mornings _'incident'_ until it became too much to cope with, and then steadfastly refusing to do so, turning his mind to Quidditch, Hedwig or some other nonsensical matter.

Any appetite he had was destroyed with each recurrent run through of the potions classroom, bile rising in his throat at just the _thought_ of having to face people who knew _every one of his inner most longings._

The thought that _Draco Bloody Malfoy_ had been in the room almost brought him to tears, yet Harry Potter didn't cry… hadn't cried in years, not since he was old enough to understand the words " _Crying is for weaklings and women, freak!"_

And Harry Potter was no weakling… yet at the moment he was feeling pretty weak.

And wretched.

And Pathetic.

Pathetic Potter.

Several times during the course of the day Harry had sat bolt upright, once almost too suddenly, his seeker reflexes catching him as vertigo hit. His near death was caused by the faint thudding and laughter that wafted from the classrooms below, as students made their way to and from their various lessons.

Every guffaw or bark of laughter sent blood to his face, paranoia making him sure they were talking about him. Twice he had all but stopped breathing when it seemed they were getting closer than the classrooms warranted, perhaps set to invade his sanctuary.

He'd though about moving to a more solitary position, but each idea was discarded as having its own flaws.

Moaning Myrtle's bathroom had, well… Moaning Myrtle.

The chamber of secrets, while not very secret anymore and definitely only accessible by him, had too many memories tied to it…and was really quite disgusting anyway, what with the sixty foot corpse rotting away down there.

He'd contemplated just sitting in one of the secret passage-ways, but the twins, as well as his friends knew of those, and ….well it would be really boring _…at least up here he had the sky._

The shrieking shack was a serious contender until he considered that while the professors were willing to allow him to shirk classes in favour of secluding himself on the astronomy tower roof (he had no illusions that the staff didn't know where he was), he didn't think they would react well if he just disappeared off the castle grounds entirely.

Besides, if classes, companionship and the chilly weather weren't deterrent enough, then the locking charm on the trap door should be an adequate message to any wanderers.

The sun started to sink and Harry knew that the nightly feast would have the great hall filling with ravenous teenager's right about now and knew that anyone who didn't know what had happened in the potions class that morning when they sat down would be completely informed within 5 minutes.

Watching the golden rays peal their way through the bright red sky, Harry, for the first time that day, realistically contemplated his options, discarding suicide, mass murder, a school wide obliviate and other nefarious schemes he had touched on during the day.

He really only had one option, because he couldn't just fortify his position on the tower and live out the remainder of his days up here, too spineless to face the ravenous hordes below.

If he could whether being thought the heir of Slytherin when he was 12 surely he can handle a little gentle ribbing from his fellow students.

 _About some of the most intimate and personal longings and hopes he harboured._

 _Simple._

After all; Harry Potter knows no cowardice.

And so, getting to his feet, ignoring the slight sway as they adjusted to his weight after hours of lying idle, Harry returned to the castle proper, retracing the path of his frantic dash.

His feet led him towards the great hall, determined that if he was going to do this he'd rather just jump in eyes closed than draw the torture out.

" _I_ love you Harry!" was suddenly shouted, followed by the tittering laughter of the young hyena…sorry, _female_ species. Harry refused to look as he pushed through the gaggle of third year girls, noting the yellow and black ties.

Sudden dread filled his stomach, weighting heavily; if even the Puffs, _the kind, loyal Hufflepuffs_ were mocking him, then perhaps his most terrified imaginings from the day weren't so farfetched.

The closer he drew the worse it became, as he caught up with the stragglers; the detention crew, the rebellious older students and the studious Ravenclaws.

' _Be mine Harry!'_

 _'It's sooo romantic…do you think he's waiting for the right one?'_

 _'Attention seeking prat!'_

 _'…kind of tragic really. I heard Vicky Frobisher telling Latimer Morsley that it was really kind of sad. Yes, it is kind of pathetic as well….-feel sorry for him…'_

 _'I'd like to do more than kiss you Potter! In fact; I'd like to bend you over and-'_

Harry couldn't help but wonder whose brilliant idea it had been to face this head on.

By the time he reached the doors that opened up to the great hall he was as humiliated as he had been that morning, his pale skin making the burning blush of his cheeks astoundingly obvious, his head tucked to his chest, eyes hidden behind hanging locks of dark hair, hands tucked in his pockets, hunched in on himself.

The dull roar from the room beyond grating on his nerves, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, lifted his head, pulled his hands from his pockets and Harry pushed the doors open in one fell swoop and walked into the hall.

The roar became deafening silence and several hundred eyes suddenly placed Harry in their spotlight; and it was obvious that the rumour mill had been working well this fine Hogwarts day; naturally the whole school knew that Harry Potter was an uncorrupted blushing virgin, innocent of all carnal delights.

For someone as private and independent as Harry, to have his intimate thoughts and hopes out as general fodder was almost too much too bear, yet to his credit he kept his head held high, as Harry as ever, despite the pink dusting his cheeks and the slight tremble of his hands, he stood tall in the doorway, not meeting, yet not avoiding the many curious and insensitive eyes.

The staff table was also silent, waiting to see how this would play out; many of their number concerned, sympathetic and angry but knowing that it best if Harry handled the situation himself, rather than having the added shame of having a teacher intervene.

Thankfully, Harry had two friends, who always came through for him when he most desperately needed them,

"Oy Harrybub!"

And

"Hey Harrykins!"

Harry met the twin's eyes as they leapt to their feet and had to snort as they gestured dramatically, Fred placing his hands on his hips and glaring sternly, George shaking his head disappointedly.

"We've been hearing some unacceptable things about you today…"

"You've been a very bad boy…keeping such terrible secrets…."

"Misleading us…"

"6 years and we've yet to corrupt you!"

"Terrible!"

"Intolerable!"

"Impossible!"

"We have no choice Fred…."

"I concur George, no choice at all"

"It must be done. For the greater good…"

"We must remedy this situation immediately. Get over here…"

"Like Dad taught Ron….We must teach you of the bugs and the birds!"

Ron visibly cringed and Hermione gasped with laughter as they separated, freeing a spot between them, gentle invitation obvious. Harry accepted it, moving to sit in the gap Ron and Hermione had created, suddenly eternally glad that the twins had taken Dumbledore up on his offer to finish their seventh year after the Umbridge fiasco. Trying to ignore the steady crescendo of hushed murmurs and whispers, filtering out the building laughter and ignoring the growing comments and several dreamy sighs directed towards him, Harry listened to his friend's hilarious tale of poor Ron's misfortune of being the 6th son, whom Molly refused to give 'The Talk', instead leaving it up to her husband.

Harry was doing a more than satisfactory job at being engrossed in Fred and George's story, but shifted uneasily and shrunk in his seat a little at a particularly crude jab aimed from the Slytherin table. Ron nudged him in the side and sent a blinding grin which he returned weakly, noticing that when Ron turned back to the table he had angled his 6" framing such a way that it shielded the left side of the halls view of his friend.

Ron himself was scarlet and intermediately thunking his head against the table but was secretly glad that his brothers had managed to take some of the spotlight off his friend, a little guilty that he hadn't found a way himself; after all he half considered it part of his job description to protect and back Harry. It seemed that many of the Gryffindor students had taken the twins, Ron and Hermione's lead, being deliberately more Gryffindor; louder, more exited, more brash…shielding and masking the small group hidden in their midst.

The table had filled with delectable offerings and most students dug in wholeheartedly, the majority of Gryffindor table still ensnared by the Twins embellished tale as it finished and then morphed into another. Harry however, still unsettled by the constant stares, whispering and catcalls picked at his dinner, not comfortable despite his best efforts to appear normal. He really appreciated his friends and housemates attempts to shelter him but could feel himself reaching his burn point.

A soon as the first students began to retire to their rooms for the night Harry pushed his plate away and got to his feet, "I'm going to head to bed. I'll see you in the morning…."

Hermione reached out and grasped his arm, "Are you sure Harry, do you want one of us to come with you?"

Harry smiled softly at the witch, answering, "No thanks –'Mione, I'm fine." he spread his gaze over his closest friends; the twins, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Ginny, and then the rest of his house and added a soft "Thank you", before he turned on his heel and headed towards the door, several worried gazes following in his wake.

Halfway to the exit Harry stopped and nodding his head as if coming to a decision he turned and headed towards the Slytherin table on the far side of the room. The hall fell silent as the students noticed him, and by the time he reached the green and silver cohort a pin drop could have been heard.

Harry saw out the corner of his eye several teachers tense as he stopped at the head of the Slytherin table; and wandered if they really thought he'd attack someone in the full great hall. He looked down the table of sneering, yet confused faces, lingering on those he knew by name and passing those he didn't. He met the silver grey eyes of Draco Malfoy and was hardly surprised to have the blonde stare back challengingly, but for once it wasn't Malfoy he was here to confront.

Obviously ousted from his position at the head of the table with the older students, Higgs huge frame was squashed in among the fourth years, and from the surly looks he was receiving, about half his house was less than impressed with him; or at least the result of his actions. From the corner of his eye Harry could see the hourglasses that recorded the house points against the far right wall; the red was ludicrously full in comparison to the other colours whereas the green was completely and utterly empty. Higgs had obviously lost them a lot of points.

Many of the students didn't really care about the house cup, having decided that humiliating Harry Potter to this extent was worth the last place ranking, others – particularly the younger years who were less involved in the upper years tense opposition were surly at the loss of points but not brave or suicidal enough to protest too loudly.

Terrence Higg's face was bruised below his left eye and his lip was split, he'd obviously refused to go to the infirmary, but looked to be paying the cost, hunched over his ribs and sitting awkwardly. He still managed to sneer maliciously when Harry turned to him.

"Higgs…"

The whole hall was listening in on this conversation, something that both Harry and Terrence were aware of; the seventh year took control of the conversation before Harry had a chance to continue.

"What the hell do you want Pathetic?" he spoke loudly, for the entertainment of his house, thinking that his deliberate interchanging of Harry's surname was incredibly clever.

Sniggers died down as Harry didn't react other than to just tilt his head to the side and wait for silence, which was granted him a moment later, "Nothing you'd be competent enough to provide. I just wanted to inform you that you're potion had too much Camphor…." the ease with which the flippant comment was delivered startled Draco Malfoy into a surprised huff of laughter, inciting many of the others at the table to also laugh at the seventh years expense.

Higgs was speechless; he'd thoroughly humiliated the younger boy, taken Potter's self-worth and crushed it under his size 12 boots – he should have been the champion of Slytherin right now, and instead his own friends and fellows were laughing at _him_.

Because of Potter, who even now had turned his back and was wondering out of the hall like he wasn't the laughing stock of the school.

Higgs verbally lashed out at Harry's retreating form, "Potter! You should fix your problem…before someone else does. I'd enjoy making you scream."

" _Mr Higgs!",_ Professor McGonagall's furious voice cut through the hall like a whip, all tittering and whispering falling silent. The deputy headmistress was on her feet at the head table, seemingly near vibrating with fury. She turned to where Professor Snape was seated beside her, her voice pure steel as she spoke, "Mr Higgs's behaviour is _beyond inappropriate_ , deal with your student- or I will!"

Severus raised an eyebrow at her, slowly setting his cutlery down. Then he turned to the slytheryn table and said, voice icy as glacial water, "Mr Higgs- _with me._ " He slid his chair back and got to his feet, cloak billowing behind him as he started to leave the great hall, not having to look to see if his student was following.

Higgs slunk away from the table, face puce and eyes narrowed as he stalked after his teacher.

Harry's voice stopped both teacher and student, as well as the rest of the hall.

Despite the colour rising in his cheeks at the vulgar suggestion, Harry kept his cool, a look of smouldering disgust accompanying a cold dangerous voice that reminded people that this boy, _this man_ , was feared by the most feared wizard in the recent history, "No Higgs, you _really_ wouldn't….." and Harry turned and strode from the hall; seeking his room and the solitary privacy found behind the curtains of his four poster bed.

The complete and utter disregard that he was dismissed with shocked the seventh year silent and he didn't recover until well after Harry had left the hall. Finally he shook himself from his stupor and realised that Severus was gone, he hurried to follow. He skulked down along the length of the Slytherin table; the centre of attention; the majority of it disgusted, disapproving and condemning.

He turned to Draco; the unmitigated king of the Snake house and foremost Harry hater, and would have been dead twice times over had looks been able to kill.

The halls were empty as he headed for the common room, most students and staff still at dinner, and Harry was thankful. He ran the conversations he'd had with both his friends and then later with Higgs through his head, unhappy and upset with the situation but feeling a little better at having stood up to the seventh year who had so easily destroyed his semi-peacful life in 30 seconds.

His friends were trying to help, wanting to shelter and protect him, and to an extent Harry appreciated it, but he was the type to do his own fighting, to stand up for himself, and hoped that his friends would understand when he pushed them away a little.

Not yet though.

Entering the common room, he smiling tiredly at the fat lady's jovial greeting and made his way up to the sixth year dorms, shutting the door behind him and flopping onto his bed with an audible sigh, "Welcome to the life of Harry Potter. What a bloody day!"

A moment later and he pulled himself to his feet and hurried through his nightly routine, showering and brushing his teeth; he wouldn't have bothered but he could still feel the faintly sticky remnants of his impromptu potion bath that morning.

After discarding his glasses on the bedside table, Harry sat on his four poster bed and drew the curtains, hoping to ward off the no-doubt sympathetic interest once his house mates returned. Shutting aching and tired eyes he settled back against his pillow and was rudely awakened by the sound of rustling paper and flat coolness against his cheek.

An envelope, plain white, no name or label, rested on his pillow and Harry starred at it, baffled, before shrugging and reaching for his glasses, replacing them on his nose.

He opened the letter and began to read the neat black script.

 _Potter,_

 _It has come to my attention that your potions lesson this morning was rather…unpleasant._

 _As Mr Higg's potion was not tested, nor completely accurate and although I can find no adverse side effects from the portion I tested, please report to the hospital wing at the first sign of discomfort or illness._

 _Let it be known, while I would not stoop to disparage a colleague in his manner of dealing with you tiring little horrors; this would never have happened had you been under my watch._

 _The potion – Intimate Truth, is not something I would ever wish one to experience; and certainly never in a situation such as you found yourself this morning._

 _The intimacy potion was originally derived as a method of ease during arranged marriages, allowing couples to speak candidly, but by choice, about what they wished from a relationship. Mixing it with weakened Vertiserum however, takes away freedom of choice._

 _A despicable and unacceptable action._

 _Rest assured Terrence Higgs has been soundly punished – he would have been expelled, however as it is his seventh year, and he is, and I tell you this in the strictest of confidences and on the knowledge of what he forced from you -Terrence Higgs is one of my 'at risk' students,due to the state of his home life, I could not bring myself to recommend explosion._

 _Instead, he shall be joining me for detention every other night for the rest of the year._

 _He also succeeded in losing his house 1000 points. The disparity between Slytherin and Gryffindor house hourglasses at this point in the year sickens me with homicidal rage. Be warned._

 _Although I trust your ever expanding need for attention and trouble will no doubt shrink this gap in short order._

 _Finally, I spent this afternoon testing a rather inspired brewing of Intimate Truth and have come to the conclusion that if indeed the work truly belongs to a certain potion-dead, incapable dunderhead Gryffindor, whom I refuse to name– then the 1000 points awarded are not without merit._

 _If I believed._

SS.

Harry read the letter twice, unsure what to make of it, several areas were insulting, as he would expect had Dumbledore ordered it written, and while the majority of the rest was just factual and emotionless, there were a couple of phrases where almost…kind.

And knowing who the sender had to be…

Well, Severus Snape didn't do 'kind', and certainly not to Harry Potter; the bane of his existence.

Finally Harry placed the letter in his trunk, still unsure but not having the energy to contemplate it any longer, deciding just to take it at face value. He returned to bed and was asleep within two minutes, despite, or perhaps knowing what the rest of his week would no doubt be like.

Mayhem…mortifying, embarrassing, and humiliating mayhem.


End file.
